


Coming Into My Own

by Annie_Myos



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-01 09:29:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15140141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annie_Myos/pseuds/Annie_Myos





	1. Chapter 1

“No!” Dean’s voice is angry and his words final. “Absolutely not.”

“Dean...” Sam’s voice is plaintive, trying to calm his brother down. “We don’t have any other choice. Besides, we’ll be right there. She’ll be fine...”

“No!” Dean’s voice is a growl now, a warning. His entire body is tense as he paces back and forth in the small motel room. “No.” He says again, quieter this time, almost as to himself.

Sam sighs with frustration and looks around the room, searching for a way to convince Dean of what needed to be done. “Dean,” he says, standing up and intercepting the pacing man, steering him to a chair by his shoulders. He squats down in front of his older brother, who refuses to meet his gaze. “Dean. We have to do this. If we don’t act now we’ll lose our chance and somebody else will die.”

“It’s better than her dying.” Dean snaps, jumping to his feet again and resuming his pace. 

“Dean...she’s...she’s not going to die...look...” Sam grabs the old, age worn sheet of paper from the bed and waves it in Dean’s face. “This is the spell that will kill it. Right here. I found it in the lore this morning. We just have to lure it out and then it will be over. We just need...”

“Bait?” Dean snaps, stopping his pacing to turn and stare down his brother. Same trails off looking sheepish.

“A woman, Dean. I was going to say a woman.” Sam resumes after Dean’s anger seems to subside some. “This thing is attracted to girls. All we have to do is lure him out, use the spell, and we’re done!”  
“Well we’re not using her.” Dean repeats, stubbornly. 

“I guess we could always throw a dress on Sam and hope for the best!” You quip. “Maybe that thing will see his long hair and mistake him for a chick.” You had been hoping to ease some of the tension in the room, but you immediately regret speaking up as both set of Winchester eyes glare at you, not amused. Okaaay you think. Tough crowd. Better try another tactic. 

“Baby it’ll be fine.” You coo, catching the sleeve of Dean’s coat as he walks by, and pulling him toward where you’re sitting at the table. You wrap your arms around his waist and smile up at him. “You and Sam will be right there. It’s not like I’d really be in any danger at all...”

“No!” You jump, letting your arms fall away from him as he snaps at you. “You don’t get a say in this, {name}. It’s not happening. "

The fear you were feeling melts away instantly and is replaced with anger. I don’t get a say? You think indignantly, rising to your feet. Who the hell did he think he was?

“You listen here, Dean Winchester,” you snarl back, taking a step toward him. “You don’t own me. I make my own decisions. Me.” You stab his chest with your finger, punctuating the last work. You see a look of amusement cross his face briefly before his opens his mouth to speak. Before he can, you wave him away, furious now. Why were you even putting up with this? You’d served your purpose for the Winchester boys long ago and had no reason to tag along anymore. Well...no reason other than those beautiful green eyes that were staring at you, looking worried now. 

No, no dammit. You chide yourself. Don’t let yourself get sucked in by his rugged good looks. It wasn’t the first time he’d tried to make a decision for you – and you didn’t like it. You might not know anything about hunting or fighting monsters, but you weren’t some stupid woman. You were more than capable of taking care of yourself. At least you were... in your own world. In the world that you lived in before Dean and Sam Winchester came roaring in like a wildfire, setting ablaze everything you thought you knew. Their world...well, technically the real world, you guessed...now that was a whole other matter. The one where monsters and bad guys and all of the things from horror stories were real – well you weren’t as sure of your ability to survive in that one. But you did it until these two came along, you remind yourself, silently. 

“I’m done with this.” You say aloud now, reaching for your coat where it hangs off the bathroom door knob. The room was small. A double bed in the middle of it, with a small table and chair set off to the corner where Sam and Dean now stood, watching you. The bathroom was tiny and filthy and adjoined another, even smaller room, which only held a bed, a sitting chair, and a night stand. “I’m not going to stay here and be treated like a child. Figure your shit out on your own. I’m...I’m...” you pull open the door, “done!” You repeat yourself, unable to think of anything else to adequately convey the emotions swirling around in you. 

Before either of them can speak, you’re out the door, letting it slam loudly behind you. You pull on your leather jacket and pull the collar up. It’s the beginning of summer but the evenings are still cool. You trudge away from the motel room and stop in the middle of the parking lot, cursing. Where exactly were you going to go, {Last Name}? You’d come here with the Winchesters and didn’t have a car of your own that you could speed away in, as much as you longed to. Well, a part of you did...another part was thinking about Dean’s face and the surprise that had crossed it when you’d opened the door. 

Your bank account still had money in it, of course. You’d had a good job before your life had been torn apart and you’d found yourself on the road with the boys. Even now your substantial investments ensured that a healthy amount of money was deposited into your chequings account each month. It had been meant to support you in your retirement, but for the last two years you had been using it to help support yourself and the boys. They’d scoffed, of course. Dean especially had tried to refuse the money that you would withdraw from the bank on the first of every month and then hand over to him in a little brown envelope. But you’d insisted. You might be able to accept that there were monsters and demons in the world that needed killing...but you weren’t about to become a criminal and live off of stolen credit cards. 

Not that the bank account would do you much good now. You were in some small hick town in the middle of...what state were you even in? You’d been travelling so much the last few weeks you weren’t even sure you remembered anymore. Apart from the motel that you were at currently, the only other businesses you’d seen as you’d all driven into town was a gas station and a small corner store that had children loitering around outside of it. You doubted that either of those places rented cars. You shiver, squinting past the glow of the street light you’re standing under, searching for the moon. For some reason, seeing the moon always made you feel better. 

“You know he doesn’t mean to be an asshole.” It’s Sam’s voice, coming softly from the darkness closer to the motel. “He’s just scared.” He steps into the light and jumps up to sit on the trunk of the Chevy Impala, patting a spot next to him for you to join.  
“Well he is an asshole sometimes.” You scoff, at first resisting the urge to join him, but eventually crawling up onto the trunk, settling in next to him. 

“{Name},” Sam sighs, as if unsure of what to say next, “Dean’s broken.” He says it so matter-of-factly that it catches you off guard. You look at him from the corner of your eye, trying not to look too interested in what he has to say. Sam is leaning back on his elbows, looking up at the moon like you had been just a few moments before. You know that Dean would be beyond pissed to see the two of you sitting on his beloved car and you smile to yourself, knowing you’re being petty.  
“You don’t have to make excuses for him, Sam,” you start, but he cuts you off.

“No, {Name}, I mean it. There are things about him you don’t know. Places he’s been, things he’s done, and things he’s ....been.” You wrinkle your forehead at that, but don’t say anything, letting him go on. “Listen, Dean’s given up a lot in his life to help the people that he loves. To save the world. I know that sounds dramatic,” he adds, giving you a little grin, “but it’s true. Dean’s lost everything that he’s ever loved, except me. It takes a lot for him to open up, but he has...for you.”

You snort, trying hard not to let his words affect you, but feeling yourself soften nonetheless. Sam sits up straight and looks down at you, his hazel eyes kind and serious at the same time. “Dean had to grow up fast. Our father put a lot of responsibility on him. He’s always had to look out for me. It’s his nature, really. To protect.” You gaze back at him, fascinated now. The boys have always been so secretive about their pasts and you almost feel like you’re eavesdropping on something you shouldn’t.

“So,” Sam sighs, smiling tiredly, “when he says stuff like...like he said in there,” he motions to the motel room, where you can see Dean’s silhouette moving behind the curtains, “it’s not because he doesn’t respect you, or wants to control you, or is some he-man woman hater.” You giggle, despite yourself, at his little joke. “It’s because he wants to protect you. Because he cares about you. And it’s all he knows how to do to show it.”

Now it’s your turn to sigh as you feel the last bit of your anger drain away. “Sam, I know he respects me...I just...” you pause briefly, unsure of your words. “I just don’t like being treated like I’m useless. And I know I am, sometimes, when it comes to...monster stuff.” You whisper that last part, looking around, still paranoid that someone is going to hear you and commit you to the loony bin. Sam chuckles as you meet his eyes again. “But I’m not useless, ok? I have a brain and I can take care of myself.” 

“I know that, {Name}.” He smiles softly at you, putting an arm around your shoulder and rubbing your arm to warm you. “And so does he. Like I said; he’s just scared. I’ll talk to him. He’ll come around.” 

You both sit in silence for a few moments, contemplating the words. Finally Sam gets to his feet and shoves one hand in his pocket, using the other to tap you affectionately on the cheek. “Just don’t leave, ok? He’s survived a lot, but I’m not sure if I could pull him through if you left.” With that he turns and walks away towards the motel, disappearing inside the room. 

****

You don’t return to the motel room right away. Even though you’ve calmed down and you know you’re not going anywhere, you still can’t bring yourself to let him off the hook that easily. He might be stubborn, but you were too. Instead you wander around the small town for the next hour, enjoying the walk, especially knowing that Dean would be worried sick. 

When you return, the light is still burning in the window of the small room that you’re sharing with Dean and you slowly trudge towards it, knowing you have to put him out of his misery eventually. You try the knob and it opens and you slip inside quietly. You can see his form lying in the bed and you’re not sure if he’s still awake or not. He doesn’t say anything as the door clicks to so you assume that he’s asleep. You pull off your coat and throw it on an empty chair near the bed, then slide out of your jeans, leaving those on the floor. You pull your bra off through your sleeve and toss it aside, leaving you only in your underwear and t-shirt – your preferred pyjamas. 

You crawl into the bed behind him, being careful not to wake him, and curl up against him, wrapping your arm around his waist as your press yourself against his back. A small shiver runs through you as you feel his hard muscles against your body. He’d always been able to take your breath away with that body of his. Your body wasn’t nearly as impressive, and you always found yourself skeptical that he could profess himself to be so attracted to it. You weren’t hideous...but you weren’t as lean and toned as those hunter girls that you saw from time to time. Your body was soft and curved and wholly imperfect. He’d tut tut at you every time you’d try to pull your shirt down a little further to hide your belly and instead run his hands along the soft skin there, whispering in your ear how beautiful you were. 

“You’re my vision of a perfect woman.” He’d told you once, grinning down at you even as you blushed and squirmed trying to get away from his gaze. “I don’t know why you can’t see it, sweetheart, but you’re mind-blowing.”

You smile into his back as you think about that now, jumping slightly as you’re startled by his voice. “I’m sorry,” he says softly, reaching down to take your hand into his and squeeze it. “I shouldn’t talk to you like that, babygirl. I just....I just...” You hear his voice catch in his throat as he rolls over gently, scooping you into his arms and against his chest. “I’d just be destroyed if something ever happened to you.”

You look up slowly to meet his gaze, his green eyes looking both sad and hopeful at the same time. You tilt your head slightly and press your lips against his, feeling them part slightly. “I know, baby,” you whisper, reaching up to brush your fingers against his cheek. It’s warm and you feel him shiver slightly. In this moment you can’t even believe that you’d thought those things about him. That you’d thought he didn’t respect you or wanted to control you. This man, this broken man, he wanted only to keep you safe.

“If you want to ...be bait,” he says the last two words slowly, like he’s having trouble getting them out.

“I do!” You reply quickly, not wanting to ruin the moment, but needing to exert yourself in some way.

“Well ok then, little lady.” He replies, faking a smile and reaching down to tuck a loose hair behind your ear. “Well ok then.”


	2. Chapter 2

You shiver and rub your hands together for warmth. It’s the following night and it’s much colder than it’s been for a long time. You’re wearing your coat again, but this time you’ve only got on a thin dress beneath it. It’s meant to make you look vulnerable – like easy prey. 

It’s close to 1 am and you’re slowly walking down a dark patch of deserted highway. This is where all the girls have gone missing. This is its hunting ground. The...the...what was it again? You couldn’t remember, but it didn’t matter. It’s not like you’d spend much time in its company. Just to the north of here there’s a newer highway and all of the regular traffic that used to rumble down this road every night has moved over there. Easier on the suspension, you guessed. That said, you knew, then, that if anything did show up to greet you it was likely the monster that Sam and Dean were hunting. A shiver went through your body at that thought, and the cold had nothing to do with it this time. 

They were close by. You knew they were, even though you couldn’t see them – the nearest streetlight almost half a mile away. You couldn’t hear them either...couldn’t hear much of anything, even though you were straining your ears, hyper alert to everything that was happening around you. You feel a jolt of anxiety in your stomach and you take a deep breath, willing your body to stop shaking. Willing your legs to stay put and not run as far away from the highway as you could get. Get a grip, you tell yourself, trudging slowly along the edge of the highway. Everything is going to be fine. Dean would never let anything happen you. 

You suddenly find yourself disoriented and you realize that you can see your shadow in front of you, large and dark on the pavement. You hear the crunch of gravel as a car pulls to a stop behind you, just as you register what’s happen. You swallow slowly and mumble a little prayer before turning around, only to find yourself blinded by the headlights. 

“Well hello there little lady.” An unfamiliar voice greets you as your raise your hand to your eyes, shielding them. He sounds...friendly. Not what you expected. Maybe this was just some random passerby? “It’s awful late for you to be out here by yourself, isn’t it?”

You force a shy smile and force your feet forward a few steps. “Yessir,” you reply, wondering where in the world that phoney southern drawl had come from. “My car just ran out of gas a few miles back. I was trying to find some place to get fuel.” You motion behind you, in the opposite direction that he’d driven from. From this perspective you can’t make out what he looks like. He’s nothing more than a black silhouette against the headlights. 

“Well that’s no good!” He replies. You can hear the smile in his voice. “Why don’t you hop on in and I’ll take you to the nearest station? You were actually walking in the wrong direction.”

You laugh hollowly and step closer towards his car. “Of course I was.” You say, hoping you sound sheepish. “I have a terrible sense of direction.” The man opens the car door with a creek and stands back, waiting for you to get in. As you continue to inch forward you wonder where Sam and Dean are. Could something have happened to them? Just as you start to panic, feeling your stomach tighten into a knot, you hear a familiar voice come from the darkness on the other side of the car. 

“Not tonight, jackass.” Dean sounds calm as you hear his footsteps move closer to you. A wave of relief rushes over your body. 

“Hunter.” The man hisses, reaching out to grab you before you can get away. His fingers encircle your wrist and you gasp, shocked at how cold they are. How could something that’s alive possibly feel so cold? Instinctively you pull you hand back towards you, jerking the man forward with it as you hear Sam’s voice now, chanting in Latin. The man hears it too and he hisses again, dropping your arm and pouncing towards you. This time the sound is more animal, and it chills you to your core.

He moves unnaturally fast and is on top of you before you can even think about reacting. His cold fingers snake around your neck, applying just enough pressure to make you uncomfortable – but not enough to stop you from breathing. 

“Sammy!” Dean’s voice sounds less calm down. “Hurry up!” You hear Sam’s voice get louder as Dean approaches you and the monster, a look of pure rage on his face. “Let her go, you bastard!”

To your surprise, he does. He releases his grip so quickly that you fall to the ground, landing with a hard thud on your shins, causing you to wince. The man – no the creature – stalks towards Dean menacingly, but he doesn’t back down. He reaches into his coat and pulls out a machete, the blade gleaming off the lights of the car headlights. “Come and get it, you creep.” 

Suddenly the creature stops dead in his tracks and lets out an anguish-filled wail. You’re aware that you can’t hear Sam chanting anymore, and as you watch the creature slowly de-materialize before your eyes, you realize that he must have finished the incantation. You let out a sob of relief and start to move towards Dean when, suddenly, another figure appears and Dean’s body flies to the ground in response to the hard smack against his temple. The machete is loosened from his grip and skids across the pavement stopping a few feet from you. 

“Dean!” Sam’s voice is urgent, but it still sounds so far away. Dean groans and tries to pull himself to his feet, but the new creature pushes him back down roughly with a quick stomp between the shoulder blades. He looms over Dean menacingly, staring down at him and you notice the fangs protruding from between his lips. 

Vampire! You think, frozen in place. Wait...vampire?? Why is there a vampire here? You don’t have time to question it any further as the creature crouches down slowly towards Dean. You can hear Sam’s footsteps in the gravel but he’s still so far. Without thinking, you pick up the machete and lung toward the creature, letting out a terrified cry and you swing the weapon haphazardly in front of yourself, your eyes squeezed tightly shut. You feel the weapon make contact and feel a sickening jolt as the machete meets some resistance. You open your eyes in time to see the body fall to the ground – the head already rolling beneath the nearby car. 

Horrified, you drop the machete and fall to your knees screaming. 

***  
“It’s ok. It’s ok.” Dean is murmuring in your ear as he gathers you up in his arms, squeezing you tight against his body. “Sammy, get rid of that thing.” He barks over his shoulder before turning back to sooth you, rubbing your hair tenderly. “Shhhh...it’s ok.”   
Your screams slowly fade as you press yourself against him, sobs wracking your body as you cling to him, his coat held tightly in your fists. How do they do this? You think miserably, the sight of the headless body hitting the pavement replaying in your mind. How is this so normal to them??

You hear a match strike and then hear the sound of a crackling fire consuming its meal as Dean pulls you to your feet. He positions his body strategically between you and the burning corpse and takes your chin in his hand, tilting your head slightly to look in your eyes. “Are you ok, babygirl?” His question is almost pleading, and you know that he desperately wants you to be ok. To be safe. To be happy. 

You nod quickly, not trusting your voice yet. He reaches out with a rough thumb and tenderly wipes away a tear that’s slowly rolling down your cheek. “Good,” he whispers softly, “good.”

“We’re good to go.” It’s Sam now, his voice is louder and you realize that he’s standing just a few feet behind Dean. “It’s done.”

Dean nods, still watching your face, a worried look in his eyes. “Yeah,” he replies, his voice gruff from...were you imagining it or was he emotional? “Go get the car, Sammy. I don’t want to make {Name} walk anymore tonight.” Sam doesn’t respond but you hear his footsteps retreating quickly. 

“You did so good, babygirl.” The corner of Dean’s mouth turns up into a smile, and he pushes your hair off your face, returning to holding it between his hands again. “Your first monster kill – why I almost feel proud.”

You sniff and reach up to rub at your wet face, your heart rate starting to return to normal. Dean’s hands are warm against your skin and you’re reminded again of how cold it is outside. His thumb slowly runs along your cheek, stroking it gently as he gazes at you  
.   
“I shouldn’t have let you do this...” He sighs, looking up towards the sky briefly. “Lord help me, I knew better.” 

“No!” You blurt out quickly, relaxing your hands as you suddenly realizing you’re still gripping his coat tightly in your fists. “I wanted to. It was....fine.” 

He knows you’re lying and he looks back down into your face, smiling sadly. It wasn’t fine. It was a close call. But neither of you really want to say it. 

He leans down and presses his lips against yours gently, his lips soft as he offers only the most chaste of kisses. “You’re amazing,” he murmurs as the unmistakable sound of the Impala pulls up beside you. He opens the back door for you and you crawl inside. You’ve spent a lot of time in the back seat of this car and, to be honest, hated most of it. You hate long drives, and you especially hate being a passenger. You definitely didn’t share Dean’s love of the metal machine. But tonight, as you settle into the seat and feel the soft leather cushion you, you breathe a sigh of relief. You’d take a million nights of driving in this car over even one more night of terror like you’d just experienced. 

To your surprise, Dean climbs into the backseat next to you. “Let’s just head home to the bunker, Sammy.” He says, sliding across the seat closer to you. 

“You want me to drive?” Sam sounds just as surprised as you do as he turns around in his seat to face his brother. 

“Yeah,” Dean grunts, sliding his arm around your shoulder and pulling you in close to him. “But don’t get used to it.” Sam shrugs and puts the car in gear and you feel the car lurch forward as you lay your head on Dean’s shoulder. He doesn’t say anything else. He just holds you, periodically running a hand through your hair or a thumb across your wrist as he hums along with the static filled song that is playing on the radio. You lean against him, watching the streetlights shining through the side window of the car and then disappear just as fast as they appear. It’s mesmerizing. And it’s isn’t long before you drift off into a deep sleep.   
***


	3. Chapter 3

***

The next day finds you curled up safe and sound in a large reading chair in the underground bunker you somehow call home these days. You have no memory of arriving here the night before. You presume someone must have carried you from the car into your bed because after the streetlights through the car window the next thing you remember is waking up in your own bed. It was glorious and you had smiled, stretching out under the sheets. 

Voices come from the next room and you know that Sam and Dean are in there discussing their next ‘case.’ You still roll your eyes internally when you hear them refer to it that way. As if they’re some kind of scooby-doo detective agency solving the case of the missing tea pot – and not trained hunters, dedicating their time to putting down monsters. You heart skips a beat as the events from the previous night briefly pop into your head but you force yourself to put the images aside. Last night had really affected you. Not traumatized – no. Dean was terrified of that being the case, but that wasn’t it.

It had affected you. Until last night you’d had an almost romanticized version of what the boys did in your head. They’d strategize in the bunker, seemingly so knowledgeable about stuff you’d never even imagined in your worst nightmares – and then they’d take off, kill the baddie...and come home. You’d never really given much thought before as to what happened when they weren’t around. You knew it wasn’t pleasant...sure. But you’d almost pictured it playing out like some kind of movie. The two strong men show up, make some funny quips, maybe even have a close call or two – but in the end save the day. Always. 

Now your eyes were more open to the reality of it. It wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t funny. It was brutal and hard and scary. There were horrifying sights and terrifying sounds and...the smell. God, the smell was nauseating. You weren’t sure if you could go back to being so naive to what was happening in the world now that you had had an up close and personal encounter with the supernatural. You knew that Dean and Sam tried to protect you from it, and you’d always been thankful for that - but now? Now you felt stupid, vacuous even, for living with your head in the clouds while the world was slowly falling down around you. 

“I don’t know, Sammy. It just doesn’t really seem like our thing.” Dean is talking over his shoulder to Sam in the next room as he enters the study. He’s carrying a huge mug which you know will contain tea – strong, with milk and sugar, just how you like it. 

“How can you say that??” Sam’s incredulity is obvious, even though his voice is muffled. 

Dean is now standing in front of you and he leans down, placing the mug on the table next to your chair, while planting a soft kiss on your forehead at the same time. 

“How are you today, babygirl?” He asks softly, his face only inches from yours as he searches your eyes, looking for the damage that you know he thinks he’s caused. 

“They’re missing their hearts, Dean!” Sam’s continues the conversation, oblivious to the fact that Dean is otherwise engaged.

“I’m fine,” you smile at him, leaning forward slightly to nip at the tip of his nose with your teeth. He doesn’t respond but keeps looking at you. “Scouts honour,” you joke, holding up two fingers. 

“How many people do you know who are capable of removing their own heart as a form of suicide?” Sam again. 

Dean lets out a slow breath through his nose then scratches his chin absentmindedly. He hasn’t shaven today and his face is covered in dark stubble. He stands to leave, tousling your hair playfully as he turns and strolls back into the room his brother is in. 

“Sometimes you make me wish I could cut my own heart out, Sammy,” his voice fades as he walks away from you. 

You put your book aside – you weren’t really reading it anyways- and pick up the mug, taking a large gulp of the hot liquid inside. You feel it warming your chest as it goes down to your belly and you smile, pulling the blanket in your lap tighter around you.   
So the question was, then, what were you going to do about it? About your loss of innocence, so to speak? The more you thought about it, the more you were truly ashamed of yourself. What had you become? You weren’t this girl. You weren’t the damsel in distress who was content to sit at home, waiting for her man to come back and sweep her off her feet. You weren’t a hunter either – hell no. You know that there are some strong, capable, female hunters out there but you definitely weren’t in their ranks. Just the thought of cutting that vampire’s head off...the sickening feeling of the machete catching briefly against his neck before slicing through...you shiver...it was enough to make you vomit just thinking about it. 

So what was your place then? In your old life you had been a parole officer with the federal system. You’d worked in the community supervising male offenders who had been released and over the years you had gotten good at it. Your boss had usually given you the worst cases that came out of the prisons – the gang members, the sex offenders, the violent assholes who thought it was ok to beat up their partners. In some ways, you already had experience dealing with monsters – of a sort. You didn’t kid yourself about what the job was, of course. It was a lot of paper work, a lot of time on the road and, thankfully, a lot of tedium for the most part. But that’s not to say that you hadn’t had your share of scares. You’d gone toe to toe with some awful people and always been able to stand your ground – you weren’t some shrinking violet. 

Since Sam and Dean had come into your life, that job was gone, of course. You’d hoped at one point to be able to go back. To be able to resume your life – but it just wasn’t meant to be. And then Dean ...happened...and now you couldn’t even imagine leaving him. But. Something did have to change. You were too smart, too driven, to just sit around this dusty bunker like a china doll. You often found yourself so bored that you ended up cleaning and organizing – doing laundry, dusting furniture – just so that you didn’t slowly go out of your mind. But you weren’t anyone’s house wife – no matter how sexy he might look in a pair of denim jeans. 

You shake your head, clearing your thoughts. Things were getting a bit too crowded in your head – and you didn’t need to figure everything out right now. You hear laughing coming from the kitchen and catch the whiff of bacon frying and you wander in that direction to see what’s going on. 

“Dean. Stop being so emo!” Sam laughs, opening up the refrigerator and pulling out a carton of orange juice. (Thanks owed to you for that – you weren’t sure that these boys had seen fruit in any form for many years until you came around.)

“What’s going on?” You sneak around to where Dean is frying bacon and steal a piece from the plate next to the stove. He doesn’t say anything but gives you a warning look, causing you to flash your most endearing smile in his direction. 

“Dean’s upset that he’s getting old,” Sam tosses something in your direction and it lands on the island counter in front of you. 

“Oh?” You murmur, picking the item up.

“I am not getting old, dammit!” Dean turns as he says this, then noticing the item in your hand, tries to snatch it from you. You’re too quick though and you move away quickly, knowing that he can’t leave the bacon unattended by the stove.   
You look at the little cards that are in your hand and smile. They’re various pieces of identification that Dean uses to impersonate officials during his investigation. There’s an FBI badge, and a sheriff’s badge, hell, even an RCMP badge! What makes you smile, though, is not the identification itself – but the pictures that accompany them. Well, picture, as the exact same shot is plastered on each card. The picture is unmistakably Dean – but a much younger one. His baby face looks back at you, smirking slightly at the camera. 

“Oh my god, Dean,” you laugh and he looks offended. 

“What? They’re fine. They’ve been fine since...”

“Since when?” You cut him off, holding up one of the cards for him to look at. “How old were you when this photo was taken?”

“Look it doesn’t matter, alright?” He goes back to stove, pretending that it needs his full attention. 

“We took those when he was 26,” Sam offers, looking over your shoulder with his arms crossed. 

“Babe that was almost 14 years ago!” You gape at him as he continues to pout at the stove. “You need to update these. To reflect how....distinguished you are now.” You choose your words carefully and reach over to playfully swat his butt, but he’s not biting.   
“I’m not old, ok!” He sounds angry now, but you can’t take him seriously. He’s just being ridiculous. 

“Well I never said you were old.” You reply, watching the back of his head. “But now that you mention it....” You trail off, smirking at Sam as you see Dean’s back tense. You had no idea that this was a sore spot for him. Sure, he wasn’t a spring chicken anymore – but he was still in fantastic shape. Even though he ate like a garbage disposal, his lifestyle kept him active enough that his body was still lean and hard. There wasn’t a grey hair on his head and, though his face was starting to get some wrinkles, you didn’t think it made him look old. It makes him look sexy as fuck. You think suddenly. 

 

Dean doesn’t reply so you continue, enjoying teasing him now. “Maybe you’re right, actually. Maybe I should trade you in for a younger man.”  
“Ha. Ha.” Dean replies flatly, not turning around. 

“Hell, maybe even a younger model of Winchester.” You sidle up to Sam and wrap your arms around his waist playfully, and he immediately returns the hug, smiling at you. He’s so much taller than you that your head barely even reaches his chest.   
At that, Dean can’t control himself and turns around quickly, frowning when he sees the two of you. You can tell that he knows he’s being teased, though, and his face immediately goes blank showing no sign of emotion. “Go ahead,” he says, calling your bluff. “Mazeltov.” You can see a look of amusement in his eyes as he speaks but something else too. Even though he’d never admit it you, think there might be just the tiniest bit of jealousy there. 

“Oh, well as long as we have your blessing, bro.” Sam leans over as if to kiss you and you laugh as Dean springs into action. 

“Bacon’s ready!” He exclaims, picking up the frying pan and accompanying plate of bacon and bringing them both over to the island where Sam has set out three place settings. Conveniently, in putting the food out to serve Dean seems to find a way of placing his body between you and Sam. 

Sam chuckles and shakes his head, sitting down to dig into the food. You press against Dean from behind as he puts the food down and gently kiss the back of his neck, pausing for a moment to suck at the skin. You see the goose bumps form on his skin, but he doesn’t acknowledge the kiss. 

Sam is back to discussing the case now and as Dean turns to return the frying pan to the sink he leans in briefly to whisper in your ear. 

“I’ll get new pictures,” he says quietly, “but only if you help me take them.” 

You don’t respond but only smile at him before sitting down to breakfast. 

***

“Oh my god, would you sit still?” You’re feeling exasperated and already regretting agreeing to this. 

Dean is perched on a stool in front of you wearing a suit – well, half a suit. Why bother putting on the pants when they’re not going to be in the picture, he’d argued, and you couldn’t find a good counter point to disagree. You’ve draped a white sheet across a shelf behind him to give you a neutral background and you have your camera set up on a tripod a few feet away. It really should be easy – snap a few pictures, upload them, and turn them into ID (however that’s done.) But it’s not. 

Dean is being an impossible subject as he seemingly purposefully does everything in his power to ruin every picture that you’re taking. He moves just as the flash goes off, or sneezes at the wrong moment, or decides that he has something very important to say just as you hear the shutter click. Now he’s wriggling in his seat like a two-year old child and you’re fighting back the urge to sarcastically ask him if he needs to go potty. 

“Just. Sit. Still.” You say again, through clenched teeth. “And smile.”

“I’m not smiling,” he replies, looking at you like you have two heads. “How many cops do you see smiling for their ID pictures?” He runs his fingers through his hair for the twentieth time, and you see him steal a quick glance at his reflection in a nearby mirror. He really was hung up about feeling old, it seemed. 

“I haven’t seen any police ID,” you reply, snapping your fingers to get him to look back at you and the camera. “I’m a good girl, remember?”

He grins at you, almost leering, and winks. “We both know you’re not that good,” he says coyly, “at least not all the time. “

“Shut up,” you mumble, feeling yourself blush, despite yourself. “Fine, look stone cold, then. Just do it while looking at the camera. Please.” You add the please as an afterthought. You’re aware that you’re getting cranky – irrationally so, and you don’t want to take your irritation out on him. Especially when he seems to be in such a good mood. 

Wait. He is in a really good mood, you think suddenly. Maybe a good enough mood to talk to him about what you’ve been mulling over in your head?

You clear your throat lightly as you look down into the camera, lining up the shot before snapping a few pictures in a quick burst. “So I’ve been thinking,” you say causally, trying to sound off the cuff. 

“Uh oh,” Dean teases, flicking his eyes from the camera lens to your face quickly. “That’s never a good thing.”

“Just about my...role,” you continue, ignoring his joke. 

“Your role?” Dean repeats the word as though he doesn’t know what it means. “What about your role? You don’t have a role.”

“Well that’s just it,” you reply. The camera is now in your hands and you’re flicking through the photos slowly on the view screen, making sure you’ve captured something decent that he can use. “But I want one. “

“Ok...” Dean’s eyes narrow as he watches you, reaching up to loosen his tie and pull it off over his head. You wished he’d keep it on. You thought he looked very sexy when he dressed in a suit. 

Satisfied that you’ve captured enough good shots to serve the purpose, you put the camera aside on a nearby table and turn to talk with Dean, explaining to him all of the thoughts that you’ve been having since the night with the vampire. He listens intently and, although you can tell he’s biting his tongue at times, he says noting until you’re finished. As you’re talking you move closer to him and he catches your wrist, pulling you down to sit on his lap. 

“I just need purpose in my life, Dean,” you sigh as you conclude your rant. 

“{Name}, what happened the other night...it shouldn’t have happened. That’s on Sam and me. But believe me, it’s not going to happen again.” You start to respond but he stops you with a finger on your lips. “You don’t have to worry about the world falling apart. That’s my job. I worry about that and I keep you safe.”

“I’m not some princess who needs rescuing...” again he cuts you off before you can finish.

“I know that, {Name}.” His voice sounds so serious now and you turn your face towards his, looking into his eyes. “I don’t think that you’re weak or that you’re not capable. I’m not some misogynistic asshole who thinks that women just need to be taken care of.” 

“I never said that...” he shakes his head, stopping you as he continues. 

“You’re just normal.” He says this frankly, almost wistfully. “You have never had to worry about the things that go bump in the night because you weren’t dragged into this fucked up life as a child, and forced to learn how to deal with all of the things you thought were only in your nightmares.” You’re surprised to hear him describe his life like that. You’d always thought that he loved hunting and to think that he viewed it as...a burden? That’s how he seemed to be describing it. 

“And because you got to grow up normal, in a normal home, with a normal family,” he continues, keeping your gaze, “you’re not broken like Sammy and me. And I love that about you. I love that you can be smart, and sarcastic, and silly, and vulnerable...and go for walks in the dark alone without even giving a second thought to all of the horrible things out there that could end you in a heartbeat.” 

He’s never spoken so frankly about this to you before and you’re fascinated. As much as you’d had a romanticized view of what he does, he seems to have an idealized view of you and your life. 

“And the bottom line,” he sighs, rubbing a hand along the small of your back, “is that I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure that you get to keep that happy, carefree, innocent life. And that means that I’m going to worry about the bad guys and I’m going to protect you. Not because I think you can’t protect yourself...but because I don’t want you to have to.”

You’re so touched by his declaration that you can’t find the words to say in reply. Instead you put a hand behind his neck and lean down, kissing his lips gently. He returns the kiss eagerly and you feel his hands on your back pressing your body against his as his lips part beneath yours and he bites down softly on your lower lip. 

“That’s really sweet, Dean,” you smile softly at him as you pull away. His head is tilted back so he can look up at you and you link your fingers together behind his neck, feeling the soft hair at the back of his head tickle you. “But that innocence is gone, and I need more in my life.” You pause for a moment, knowing he’s not going to like what you’re about to say next. Taking in a sharp breath you decide to rip the bandage off and blurt out quickly, “I want to learn how to hunt.” 

His reaction is instantaneous. 

“No friggen way!” There’s no sign of tenderness left in him now as he stands up quickly, almost knocking you to the floor as you stumble to your feet quickly. 

“Dean, I’m not saying I want to be a hunter!” You reply quickly, hoping to ease his concerns. “I just want to know how. You know. In case.” 

“There is no in case, {Name},” he sounds like he’s both angry and exasperated at the same time. “You will never have to worry about it. I got this.” 

“And what if you’re not there?” You snap back, feeling your crankiness returning because of his reaction.

“I will always be there. Don’t worry about it.” He’s standing over you now, staring you down, and his words sounds threatening, even though you know that’s not his intention. 

“What if you’re dead?” You blurt it out without thinking and, even though you wished you’d been more delicate about it, you’re glad you said it. 

“I’m not going to die!” He throws his arms up in frustrated and turns away from you, pacing now. “Friggen women,” he mumbles under his breath.

“Dean,” you reply, trying to stay calm and to sound reasonable. “You and Sam say all the time that a hunter’s life will end bloody at some point. We don’t know when that will be. Do you really think it’s fair to bring me into this life, introduce me to all of these horrific things, and then leave me without any way of protecting myself if something happens to you??”

He runs his hands over his face, and he sounds exhausted as he sighs. He doesn’t respond immediately though, and you think that that’s a good sign. 

“Look, just think of it as self defence lessons,” you continue quickly, trying to take advantage of his relative calm. “I don’t want to hunt, I don’t want to go out there with you. I just want to be able to take care of myself, that’s all.”

“Self defence lessons.” His eyebrows are furrowed and he turns towards you again, looking at you contemplatively. 

“Yeah,” you say, smiling, “and then maybe I can eventually help out with research and spell stuff at the bunker...”

“Don’t push your luck.” He cuts you off, calmer now but still not smiling. “Self defence. That I can understand. That I can maybe get behind. But don’t push your luck past that.”

You grin at him and rush towards him, throwing yourself into his arms and wrapping your arms around his waist. “Thank you,” you say softly, smiling into his chest. 

He gently pushes you aside and shakes his head at you, unable to resist a small smile in your direction before he turns and strides towards the door. 

“Sammy!” He shouts as he leaves the room. “We have to talk!”  
*****


End file.
